


Everybody Ought to Have a Maid

by KassieProphet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester Has a Panty Kink, Eventual Fluff, Light Spanking, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Not really BDSM, PWP, Panty Kink, Professor Castiel, Smut, french maid costumes, neat freak dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: When Bobby's autoshop has to cut back hours, Dean has to find another part time job. Is merry maids the way to go? And what does Jimmy Novak have to do with any of this?!





	Everybody Ought to Have a Maid

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this http://just-cas.tumblr.com/post/173423454801/tag-yourself-im-mishas-bathrobe
> 
> and this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ahqu1nd3Zu8

It had started out as a joke. Sam was sitting on his couch drinking beer—as Dean did his stress cleaning—looking at Dean with his amused bitchface.

“Dude, maybe you ought to clean houses.”

“What’s that, Sammy?” asked Dean, pausing mid-sweep.

“I’m just saying, might as well turn some of your manic energy into cash.”

Dean turned to him with as much grace as he could muster while dumping the contents of his 3-for-1 dust pan into his stainless steel trash can.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a man taking care in his castle,” said Dean as he surveyed his flannel shirt for errant dust bunnies.

Sam snorted as he took a pull of his beer, and Dean knelt on his haunches to rummage under the sink.

“Dean. ‘Care’ is taking out the garbage or keeping up on the dishes. I’m surprised you haven’t Pledged the floors yet.”

Dean looked at the can of dollar-store “lemon spray” in his hand, before putting it back.

“Yeah, yeah. All right, all right. Shut your trap and let’s get a movie cued up before Charlie and Gilda get here.”

***

It _had_ been a joke. That was until Bobby had pulled him into his office a few days prior.

“I’m sorry, son,” Bobby said as he poured Dean 2 fingers of rotgut. “You’re my best mechanic, which is why I’m only cutting your hours. I’ve had to let both Cole and Andy go. Business just ain’t what it used to be with these computerized cars and the Jiffy Whatsit Pop that moved in down the street.”

So that’s why Dean and his two friends Jack & Jim were staring at the “Careers!” section of the “Clean Team’s” website. Emboldened by his liquid courage and by his anxiety for rent, Dean finally hit “send” on his application before hitting his bed.

***

Sam was droning on about fiscal responsibility ( _Jesus, Sam—do you think our financials were magicked by elves after Dad kicked it?!_ ) now that Dean’s paycheck had taken a cut.

“—and Ellen says you’re welcome to come back to the Roadhouse. I really think that you should consid—”

“I got something,” Dean blurted.

He hadn’t meant to. It’s not that he was ashamed...it was just that there would be no living with Sam afterward (Sam’d probably engrave it on his tombstone), and Dean wanted to live in peace for a little while longer. But Sam was clearly not going to let up and Dean was already exhausted by the Clean Team’s onboarding process. (There was a _background check_ . He’d had to _pee in a cup_ at a sketchy lab out by the airport.)

Sam aborted mid gesticulation.

“You…. What?”

Dean ran his fingers backwards through his hair from nape to forelock.

“I, uh—I said I got something.”

Sam’s look of concern smoothed into a smile.

“Yeah? Good for you, Dean. What is it?”

“A part time job.”

“Yeah, I got that.” said Sam, bitchface back in place.

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

Sam spread his hands and eyes wide. “I won’t! I _promise_.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dean jabbed a finger that had been curled around his beer at him.

“You have to pinky promise.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam put down his craft cider and extended his pinky in Dean’s direction.

“Ok, Dean. I’ll _pinky promise_.”

Dean crooked his pinky around Sam’s, and they both shook before nodding and letting go.

“So, now that I’ve ‘pinky promised’, will you tell me?” asked Sam as he took up his drink again.

Picking at the label on his beer bottle, Dean said, “I...uh. Signed up with a ‘tidying firm’.”

Sam’s eyebrow furrowed. “A...what?”

Dean rolled the beer between his palms and sighed.

“Cleaners, Sam.”

“Wait—what? Like the _mob_?!”

Dean’s head snapped up. “What? No! No no no no no! Not—” he started laughing, “nothing like _that_ , Sammy.”

The line of Sam’s shoulders softened, and he lost the pinched look on his face.

“Jesus, Sam. I mean like, _houses_ . Like _actual_ cleaning. Dust and cobwebs and crap.”

Sam’s lemon face began to morph into one of amusement, smile spreading across his face slowly, like spilled milk.

“You’re gonna be a _maid_.”

No living with him. Ever.

***

Dean pulled at the collar of his cornflower-blue work polo after he’d rung “Jimmy Novak’s” doorbell.

Since Dean was part time, he was basically on call for “whatever” during his available hours. It was his third week and so far he’d mainly been shadowing veteran cleaners on their regular routes, but today was his first solo job.

“I wouldn’t call this guy a _regular_ ,” said the administrative assistant (a curvy goth girl named Krissy whose uniform seemed to be black tees and jean shorts with patterned tights) had said,  “but we get a handful jobs from every year.”

“Anything I should know?” Dean had asked.

Krissy had made an exaggerated show of looking around the home office before leaning in conspiratorially toward Dean.

“Guy’s kinda weird. As an unofficial rule, we only send noobs to him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dean had huffed.

She had shrugged, but the corners of her eyes and mouth tugged up.

“Sink or swim, dude.”

So, Dean had made his way to the guy’s house. It was off a back road that Dean was familiar with, but not an area he’d had any reason to cruise. The house was set back on a few desolate acres, but not cabin-in-the-woods isolated.

The door swung open just as Dean was about to press the button again. A man (Novak?), squinted at him—though not so much Dean couldn’t see the clear azure of his eyes—as he leaned on the slightly open door. He wore a ratty navy bathrobe that was belted at the waist, but whose flaps were migrating dangerously toward either side of his bare chest. His mahogany hair stuck up on the crown and on the right side of his head, but laid flat everywhere else.

He was perfection. Sleep or sex rumpled, Dean didn’t care—he wanted to shove the guy’s robe the rest of the way off the man’s shoulders and to run his hands through the left side of his hair so it was sticking up evenly.

“Yes?” Novak rasped out in a smoker’s croak.

_Oh yes_. He was going to treat himself to a long shower tonight.

Dean opened his mouth. Then closed it, swallowing. Then opened it again.

“I’m, um. I’m here from Clean Team?” said Dean as he gestured at the cleaner’s cart with logo. He held the clipboard with the start of the invoice on it out to Novak. “You requested our services?”

Novak’s eyes flicked down down at the paper, but made no move to take it. When he looked up again, he gave _Dean_ a more thorough once over, chin and eyes both dipping and slowly traveling back up. (Probably) Novak turned around and opened the door wide.

“Wait here,” said the retreating form before disappearing into a room off the hallway.

Dean stepped inside slowly, dragging the cart behind him and closing the door before waiting in the entryway. He surveyed the space: the living room was sunken with floor-to-ceiling windows and it bled into the kitchen—the butcher’s block and a small step the only clear boundary between the two. On the other side there was a long hallway with several closed doors.

And it was immaculate.

The white carpet and wood floors looked clean of grime; the kitchen counters were marbled and free of dishes and other detritus one accumulates from living—the pots and pans hung above the island from a gothic-looking rack suspended from the ceiling; the end table by the door had a dish with keys in it that was not cluttered with various sundry items, and there was no mail seperated into haphazard piles of “junk” or “important but, ugh—later”; and lastly, there were coat pegs from which evenly-spaced jackets hung tidily.

Down the hall the door opened again. Novak reappeared wearing a gray t-shirt with a faded graphic, which clung distractingly to his compactly muscled frame that Dean’s hands itched to touch. The tee was stretched out at the collar and displayed Novak’s clavicle invitingly and Dean wondered what it would feel like under his lips. Novak’s worn pair of blue-jeans—which were frayed at the cuffs that spilled over the insteps of his bare feet—swished as he walked, drawing attention to his obscenely thick thighs that Dean immediately wanted wrapped around him. In one hand Novak carried a garment wrapped up in dry cleaner’s plastic, the other was looped through a hole in one of his back pockets that hugged his nicely curved ass, which Dean immediately wanted handfuls of.

Novak had not made any attempt to tame his hair.

“Please sit,” Novak said sweeping his arm in the direction of the living room.

Trying to stop the sudden rush of blood southward, Dean nudged the wheel lock on the cart with is foot and went to sit on one of the couches. He tried perching on the edge, but that felt too tense, so he leaned back. And back. And back. Finding himself suddenly swallowed up by the supple cushions, Dean shimmied back up toward the edge.

Novak reclined lazily on his couch, legs crossed and bouncing slightly as if to music, as he waited for Dean to settle.

“You’re new,” he rasped still in that sleep-dry voice.

“Uh, yeah,” agreed Dean, fidgeting.

Novak nodded. “I’ll forgive the lapse, then.”

Dean swallowed. “Lapse? Mr. Novak, I—”

“Castiel,” interrupted Castiel.

“Cas-tiel? Not...James?”

“James—Jimmy’s a family name. Castiel is fine.” Then he quirked an eyebrow. “Or ‘sir’. But ‘Mr. Novak’ is my father.”

“Right. Castiel. What do mean: ‘lapse’?”

Castiel leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. “You are not in uniform.”

Dean looked down at his polo where _Hi, I’m Dean: How can I clean you?_ was embroidered on the chest.

“Uh…”

Castiel stood up and shucked the plastic off the garment, holding it up by the hook of the hanger. It revealed the white and black of a French Maid’s costume. A costume that looked very much like it was tailored to broad shoulders and thick arms.

“ _Uh…_ ” Dean said again just as intelligently as the first time, his mouth going dry and heat flushing his face and neck.

As he gapped, Castiel walked over and held the outfit up to Dean’s form.

“Yes, this should do nicely,” he said nodding. He tossed it into Dean’s lap. “Get changed. The bathroom is the second door on the left.”

Reflexively Dean picked up the uniform, before tossing it to the side and standing up to meet Castiel face to face.

“What. The. Hell, dude?!” sputtered Dean into Castiel’s space.

Castiel made a clucking noise as he snatched the hanger and shook out the costume.

“I’ll thank you to be careful with my wardrobe,” he squinted at Dean’s shirt, “‘Dean’.” Then he leaned in closer, lips ghosting on Dean’s ear. “And it’s ‘What the hell, _sir_ ’.”

Dean startled backwards, the back of his knees hitting the sofa, and tumbed once more into the quicksand of the couch. The corner of Castiel’s mouth joined his eyebrow in that smug quirk.

“I promise I’ll give you a generous tip.”

Dean swallowed hard, pulse racing, and looked again at the outfit and into Castiel’s intense gaze. He _could_ use the extra money, and if the guy got grabby—well—Dean was sure he had the height and upper arms on this guy.

Pretty sure.

“ _Fine_ ,” snapped Dean as he bounced off the couch, snatching up the uniform from Castiel’s grasp. He jabbed a finger into Castiel’s face. “But nothing funny, you got me, bud? I’m a cleaner, not a escort.”

Castiel’s lips twitched. “Of course, Dean.”

***

Dean tugged down the skirt again, like maybe this time it would get longer and cover more of his ass. It was only fine so long as he didn’t bend. Or stretch. Or reach. He looked at himself in the vanity mirror and sighed. He was basically in bumblefuck nowhere alone with some weird dude who clearly had some cleaning kink.

Or maid kink.

Whatever.

His gut was telling him to hightail it out of there, but according to Krissy this guy was an infrequent if repeat customer. In fact, she probably knew this was going to happen ( _Only send the new guys here, my ass, probably some sort of hazing rite_ ), which meant the guy was harmless and Dean wasn’t going to end up in pieces in a ditch.

Probably.

He looked at the garters and black satin panties and wondered if he was supposed to don them as well. Dean had a few silk panties of his own, but those were mostly worn in private. He fingered the sheer, silk thigh highs and figured _what the hell_ —go big or go home. If Castiel wanted him to wear a French Maid’s costume, HE WAS GOING TO FUCKING _WEAR_ the French Maid’s costume.

Dean sauntered out of the bathroom slipping into his devil-may-care persona. Castiel shot up from the couch, turning to spy Dean, and it was his turn to gape. It may have been a bit rusty, but Dean shot him a smirk and a wink that once had panties moistening even before he got his mouth on them. He swayed his hips as he walked down the hall, stopping in front of his cart.

“Anything you would like me to do first? _Sir_?”

Castiel stumbled a bit on the bottoms off his jeans as he made he way out from around the couch and up to where Dean stood leaning on his cart.

“ _Dean_ ,” he breathed. He stopped a few inches in front of Dean, enough space for the Holy Ghost, hands fluttering. “You put the stockings on. I had forgotten about them.”

Smirk firmly in place, sensing he now had the upper hand, Dean hitched the skirt up _just a bit_ to reveal that the garter clips were undone.

“I got them started. But it seems I have clumsy fingers. Since this is _your_ costume and all, I figured you could...assist.”

Castiel looked like a kid in a candy store, not knowing what goodie to go for first. He knelt on one knee, looking up at Dean. And what a sight that was—azure eyes, wide and shining, set against the black of his lashes. Would that be the look Castiel gave him with his lips stretched around Dean’s cock?

“May I?”

Dean nodded, swallowing. “ _Just_ the clips.”

Castiel exhaled and ran his long fingers up one of Dean’s legs, smoothing the thigh-high into place. Dean held back a shiver at the touch. Castiel’s nimble fingers were quick, artfully stretching the band over the nub of the garter and snapping the hook into place for each dangling ribbon. He repeated his ministrations on the other side and Dean willed his dick to behave.

After giving each strap a tug, Castiel stood up liquidly, much less space between them now. Even being shorter than Dean, Castiel still somehow managed to look down at Dean.

“First you will vacuum the carpet,” he said in a crisp, clipped tone, his composure seemingly back in place. “Then you will attack the walls to make sure they are free of cobwebs. Then…. Then I think you’ll need to take a scrub brush to the floors.”

They were easy enough tasks—pretty standard—but Dean knew every push and lean would expose his satin-clad backside. Castiel sat his ass back down on the couch and was content to watch Dean with hungry eyes as he ran the vacuum and used the attachment for the walls.

When it came time for scrubbing the floors Dean made a show if it—arching his back and sticking out his ass and he kneeled in the soapy water. He couldn’t see Castiel, but he could feel the weight of the man’s stare.

As if summoned, Castiel was suddenly a presence, walking by Dean. In. Shoes. In muddy, dirt-caked shoes. Dean sat back on his feet watching dumbly as Castiel walked through the water and down the hall leaving muddy smudges in his wake. When he got to the end of the hall, he kicked off the shoes and slouched against the wall, legs and arms crossed.

“It would appear you missed several spots,” he said in a flat voice.

“What the fuck?” spat Dean, and Castiel tsked.

“ ‘What the fuck’…” trailed off Castiel as he made a “continue” motion with his hand.

Dean gaped at him. “Uh. What the fuck...sir?”

“Good boy,” smirked Castiel. “Now, go on. You don’t have all day.”

Seething, but strangely turned on, Dean made his way back down the hallway, clearing the mud from the surface. Every swipe led him closer to Castiel’s inclined form, but Castiel made no motion to move. Soon enough Dean was confronted with Castiel’s bare toes. Dean sat back on his feet again and looked up at Castiel in what he hoped was a seductive “What now?” gaze. He looked into Castiel’s eyes, which were dark and round and serious.

Castiel reached out a trepidatious hand, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He placed the hand tentatively on the side of Dean’s head. When Dean leaned into it, Castiel caressed him before digging his fingers into his hair and grabbing it at the roots. Dean held back a moan, but felt his dick begin to plump. When Dean still made no move to stop Castiel, he gave Dean’s head a slight jerk back, just enough to be insistent. Dean’s mouth dropped open and his tongue lolled out, just a little.

“I suppose you want your generous tip?” asked Castiel, his voice rougher.

“Y-y-yes, sir,” panted Dean as he struggled to keep his balance.

“And I bet you’re greedy. You want it right here? Right now?”

Dean tried to nod, but Castiel’s tight grip on his hair held him in place.

“Sir. _Please_ ,” Dean begged.

Blown eyes still locked on Dean, Castiel fumbled at the front of his jeans with his free hand. He was bare underneath so his hard cock sprung free easily, but he kept it held in his fist.

Castiel was _huge_ , and Dean’s mouth watered at the thought of having the weight of it on his tongue.

“Tell me you want my generous tip,” whispered Castiel, almost pleading. “Tell me you’ll accept my gratuity freely.”

“ _Please_ ,” whined Dean. “ _Cas_ …”

Castiel moaned at the sound of his name and pushed the tip of his cock into Dean’s eager mouth.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed and he threw his head back into the wall behind him.

Dean tried to move forward down Castiel’s length, but was held stil. Castiel looked back down at him.

“Ah ah ah. You will take this as I see fit.”

With one hand he slowly guided more of his cock inside Dean’s mouth, the other keeping Dean’s head firmly in place. He pumped in and out with breathy grunts, pushing in a little more each time. By the time Castiel’s cockhead hit the back of Dean’s throat, Dean’s eyes were watering and spit was leaking out the corners of his mouth.

Castiel stilled. Most of his length was inside the wet heat of Dean’s mouth and Dean felt Castiel’s dick throb against his tongue. At that, Dean’s semi filled all the way and he reached down to palm himself. He was stopped with a sharp _No_ from Castiel.

“Not unless I say so, Dean,” hissed Castiel.

Dean hummed in agreement, which caused Castiel to let out a wrecked moan.

“ _Fuck, Dean_. That feels amazing.”

The hand curled around Castiel’s shaft flew to the other side of Dean’s head. Castiel was already thrusting shallowly—guiding Dean’s head with his grip—when he breathed out,

“Tap my foot if you need me to stop.”

When Dean hummed again, Castiel grunted and began to fuck Dean’s face in earnest. Castiel varied his pace, giving Dean a break with smaller thrusts after he’d rammed the head of his cock down Dean’s throat, his heavy breathing punctuated by small moans and quiet swears.

Dean’s face was a wet mess: tears streamed freely from his eyes; he was pretty sure snot was dripping from his nose; and his spit was now drooling out around Castiel’s dick and down his own chin and neck. Half the time he was struggling to take in air, and the other half he was coughing and sputtering on his own saliva.

He was also so aroused that his dick was hard as a rock and aching for release. He was rocking slightly in the panties in counterpoint to Castiel’s thrusts—though the slip & slide of them didn’t give half enough friction to do much to relieve the pressure, and it was possible he was making needy little mewls.

Suddenly Castiel pulled out with a wet sucking sound, and he bent down, curving over Dean’s body. He was panting hard and shaking slightly as he breathed out,

“Fucking _fuck_. Your mouth.”

He gripped his cock at the base and he raised Dean’s face to meet his gaze.

“Can I fuck you?” he asked in a wrecked voice as he rubbed the the head of his dick through the slick on Dean’s face. “Or can I at least cum all over those pretty lips?” he said as he swiped his thumb over the feature in question.

“C-c-condoms?” stuttered Dean as he closed his eyes to the hot sensation of Castiel’s cock against his cheeks.

“Yes,” said Castiel nodding as he tried to heft Dean up by his armpits. “And lube.”

Dean stood up shakily, his legs stiff and half asleep from kneeling on the hard floor for so long. But Castiel placed a supporting hand under his elbow, his grip solid and firm. Dean’s dick gave a twitch at the thought of having that grip tight around his length.

Castiel maneuvered Dean to what must have been the master bedroom and shoved him onto the bed. He tsked again, and he shucked off his jeans, hopping a little to get them over each foot.

“Look at what you’ve done to the uniform I’ve lent you,” he said as he stalked over to the bed, yanking off his tee. “I thought I asked you to be careful with my wardrobe.” He climbed over Dean and began pulling at the garment. “You’ve gotten it all wet and wrinkled.”

Finally succeeding in getting the costume off of Dean, Castiel bit his lip at the sight of Dean in the garters, glistening cock peeking out the top of the panties. Castiel rubbed his palm lightly over Dean’s length through the fabric.

“Ah ah!” hissed Dean as he twitched under Castiel’s touch that was at the same time delicious and not nearly enough. But as suddenly as Castiel had started, he pulled his hand away. Dean whined embarrassingly.

“Now, Dean,” said Castiel in that even tone of his, “I really want to make you cum.”

Dean squirmed on the bed.

“But the problem is you broke one of my rules.”

“ _Cas_ ,” breathed Dean, arching his back toward Castiel.

“Dean,” said Castiel as he pulled away, “what happens when you break a rule?”

Dean closed his eyes and groaned, but Castiel took up his face in his hand and squeezed his cheeks together, forcing Dean to look him in the eyes.

“I expect you to answer. What happens?”

“I...I must accept the consequences?” said Dead, adding a clipped _Sir_ at the arch of Castiel’s brow.

“And do you, Dean? Accept the consequences?”

Swallowing thickly, Dean nodded—but Castiel squeezed tighter.

“Out loud, Dean.”

“I accept the consequences, _sir_ ,” Dean said promptly.

Castiel’s long-fingered hands were back on Dean, running up and down his sides, and manhandling Dean onto his stomach and over Castiel’s bulging thighs. Castiel smoothed his palms over Dean’s panty-clad backside before pulling them down around his thighs, garter ribbons going slack.

“Now, Dean,” said Castiel, “I’m going to give you 20 spanks. I want you to count aloud.”

He gave one more caress to the skin on Dean’s ass before Dean felt the stinging slap of Castiel’s first smack on his left cheek. The burn was pleasant and Dean rocked his hips, trying to find some friction.

“Dean,” snapped Castiel. “Count, or I will start over for every number you miss.”

To punctuate his point, Castiel gave a little tap on the cleft of both cheeks.

“O-o-one!” exclaimed Dean.

“Good boy,” cooed Castiel. Then his hand came down again on Dean’s right cheek, the sting going straight to Dean’s cock.

“Two!” said Dean, fisting the bedsheets.

The next slap was on the crease where the top of his left thigh met his ass.

“Th-three!” whimpered Dean as he tried to hump the bed.

Castiel continued to spank him that way—a smack on each quadrant—until he was a writhing, leaking wreck. The burn was just enough to enhance his arousal, and neither his nor Castiel’s erection was flagging.

“TWENTY!” Dean cried out as Castiel landed the final spank. He whined, overstimulated, as Castiel gently rubbed his palms over the reddened, heated flesh.

“Shh,” soothed Castiel. “Shhh, Dean. You did very well. You were such a good boy for me. Can you turn over?”

Dean nodded, and rolled onto his back, the comforter a rough chafe against his smarting backside. Castiel gently and perfunctorily peeled off the panties, the garter, and the stockings. He hooked Dean’s legs over his shoulders so his ass rose slightly off the bed.

“Spread your cheeks, please,” he commanded.

Doing so, Dean winced a little at the burn, though he soon forgot it as Castiel’s tongue swirled around his hole and Castiel’s hand wrapped around his cock, precome slicking the way. Dean felt like a raw nerve, not knowing whether to thrust up into Castiel’s fist or to push back onto his hot, wiggling tongue.

He let out little _ah ah ah’s_ with each twist of Castiel’s wrist and each plunge of Castiel’s tongue. When Castiel’s hand left his cock, Dean let out a broken, _Caaaas_ , which turned into a loud moan when Castiel’s index finger joined his tongue in working Dean open.

Once Castiel hit his prostate, Dean lost time. All he knew was the tight heat coiled in his gut and the flash of white behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Castiel’s lubed, third finger and the throb in his hands from clutching the covers so tight. It was so, so much...but not quite enough, and he was whining Castiel’s name, pleading with Castiel to fuck him already.

Dean’s body trembled once Castiel withdrew from him, and he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Castiel was there shushing him and mummering reassurances as he ran his hands down Dean’s face and over his chest. Dean heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the snick of the lube bottle—soon enough Castiel’s cockhead was pushing slowly, _slowly_ at his hole. It popped past his rim and they both let out moans of pleasure.

Castiel continued to gradually worked his way in as Dean thrashed about, still lust drunk from Castiel’s clever tongue and fingers. Castiel never stilled; he turned his slow push in, to careful shallow thrusts that eventually became deeper and more insistent. Castiel curled over Dean—forearms on either side of him—and panted Dean’s name into the cord of Dean’s neck. Dean wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist for better leverage.

The new angle hit Dean’s sweet spot just right and he cried out, “RIGHT THERE. _FUCK_ . _Right there_ , Cas.”

“Oh _god_ , Dean,” Castiel grunted as he bit into Dean’s shoulder. His thrusts sped up, but he didn’t falter from nailing Dean’s prostrate with every drag of his cock. The pressure was building and Dean knew he wouldn’t last much longer; he was shaking with need.

“Cas. Oh my god, Cas. I can’t—I’m gonna…” warned Dean, his back already beginning to arch.

Castiel propped himself up on one arm and and grabbed Dean’s cock with the other hand, stripping it in the circle of his fist in time to his thrusts. He looked Dean in the eyes and demanded,

“Cum, Dean.”

And Dean felt the pressure begin to explode, the sparkle and white light of his orgasm starting in his groin and traveling down to curl his toes, blanking out his vision, and causing the muscles of his stomach to spasm in time to each spurt of hot cum. Dean was sure he had screamed his way through it, his throat felt so raw.

As soon as Dean’s dick finished jerking in Castiel’s hand, Castiel dropped back down to the bed and curled his arms under and around Dean’s shoulders. He began to pound hard and fast into Dean’s ass breathing a litany of _Fucks_ and _Oh gods_ into Dean’s neck. High on endorphins and boneless from his orgasm, it was all Dean could do to brace himself against Castiel’s frenzied thrusts.

Castiel’s hips began to stutter and Dean cried out, “Fuck yeah, Cas. I want you pump me full of cum.” Castiel let out something between a growl and a whine as he slammed deep into Dean’s ass with one hard pound before collapsing on Dean completely. Dean could feel the rapid flutter of Castiel’s heart and the rise and fall of his chest as he let out little mewls and gave little abortive thrusts as he rode out the aftershocks of his climax. Dean traced nothing symbols on Castiel’s back as he calmed down and his breathing evened.

“Hey,” said Dean into Castiel’s hair, kissing the crown.

“Mmpbh,” said Cas half into the crook of Dean’s neck and half into the bedspread.

“C’mon, champ,” continued Dean as he tried to rock Castiel off of him. “You know I love you but you’re fucking heavy.”

Breathing out a hot, weighty sigh, Castiel rolled off of Dean, his soft dick slipping easily from Dean’s hole. He took care of the condom, then wrapped himself around Dean’s body,

“Ew. I think I just landed in your cum.”

“Shuddup,” said Dean, nestling back into Cas. “Deal with it later, I want to take a nap.”

They laid there in silence, breaths and heartbeats slowly syncing up.

“Jimmy really is a neat freak, huh?” said Dean a bit later.

“Quite,” murmured Cas into Dean’s shoulder. “We really are gonna have to clean up our mess before he get back from his business trip.”

“Fine. But you’re helping _and_ I’m keeping the fee. No splitsies.”

Castiel laughed into the nape of Dean’s neck. “Of course, Dean. I’m putting it on Jimmy’s credit card anyway. I wasn’t kidding about the tip.”

Dean wriggled around until he could look Cas in the eyes. “You sure that’s ok, babe?”

Castiel waved a hand in the air. “He got a bonus for referring you, didn’t he? Goddamned CFO of Clean Team and he cares enough to get the referral code?”

“Hey, I ain’t complaining. Got me a job didn’t he?”

Castiel propped himself up on one elbow to look down at Dean’s face.

“Of course he got you a job, Dean. You’re family.” Castiel stared deep into Dean’s eyes, his gaze open and earnest.

Dean buried his head into the comforter.

“Shuddup.”

They laid there a while longer, mummering soft affections to each other, until Dean groaned and sat up.

“We gotta get a move on. The home office will expect me back sooner than later.”

“Ugh, and I have Lit Students to inspire. I guess”

Dean started gathering up their clothes, shaking out the French Maid’s costume. He chuckled to himself.

“Babe, this was inspired.”

Cas got up and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist.

“Mmm, you liked that?”

“Yeah, I completely forgot we had it.”

Castiel took the garment from Dean and began to fold it up as Dean gathered the soiled bed linens.

“ _I_ most certainly did not forget,” smirked Cas. “You at Charlie’s ‘Clue’ party?”

Dean turned back and winked at Cas. “Yeah, well—I knew you’d be there, sweetheart, and I had to close the deal somehow.”

Leaning over, Castiel pecked at Dean’s lips.

“I was already gone on you.”

Dean beamed at Cas. “Yeah yeah, alright. Let’s get these in the wash, ya sap.”

As Cas bent to pick up the garter and stockings he said, “You know, it really did pass my notice that these were attached.”

Smirking, Dean wiggled his hips at Castiel.

“You know, I thought I detected a break in character.”

Cas swatted at Dean and the both laughed on their way to Jimmy’s laundry room.

***

It was days later back at the home office when Krissy cornered him in the kitchenette.

“Hey, friend,” she said with all the conviction of a schoolyard antagonist, hoisting herself up onto the limited counter space.

“Hey, Krissy,” said Dean as he put his lunch in the fridge.

When she continued to say nothing—heels banging into the cabinets below leaving slight scuff marks—Dean turned to face her.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

Krissy cocked her head at him.

“Ok: 1–Mr. Novak _never_ asks for a repeat cleaner,” she said using her fingers for emphasis, “2–a little birdie told me he wasn’t even _in town_ last week. (And 3–call me ‘kiddo again’ again and your nuts are mine.) What gives, dude?”

Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to advertise his family connection, but a) Jimmy had only gotten his application through the door and b) _always get in good with whoever runs the place_.

He leaned in close to Krissy.

“Can you keep a secret?” he stage whispered at her.

She nodded vigorously. He wiggled his wedding ring at her.

“Look up his professor brother some time.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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